The One Where They Become Parents
by JR Granger
Summary: Stiles and Derek head out to the Preserve to check out a territory perimeter breach. Next thing they know there's a kid and she keeps calling them Daddy and Papa.


There was a time when Stiles would've given anything to be out in the woods in the middle of the night instead of staying at home and eating Thai food in his underwear while watching crap TV. But that was before Scott was bitten by a crazed Peter Hale and they were thrown into the deep end of the supernatural world.

Now Stiles, while he isn't busy being a Beacon County deputy, is the emissary for the Hale pack. Which involves going out to the woods in the middle of the night to search for whatever creature he felt cross the wards he set up around their territory. When what he _really_ wants to be doing right now – on his first night off in a _month_ , he might add - is sitting on his couch in his underwear, eating Thai food and watching crap TV.

"But noooo," Stiles says under his breath as he trudges in front of Derek, headed toward the spot where he felt the disturbance. In the force. Heh.

Derek huffs. "Stop complaining. You're not the only one out here on your night off."

Rolling his eyes, Stiles says, "Which is exactly why I had said we should send Erica and Cora to take a look. They even volunteered!"

"You also said that you couldn't tell what it was," Derek adds. "So if it's friendly, shouldn't the emissary be there to greet it?"

Stiles can't help but snort. "Emissaries are also traditionally sent as a representative _by themselves_." He glances over his shoulder to look at Derek, eyebrow raised. "Or do you still not trust me to not fuck it all up spectacularly and smear the Hale name?" Stiles honestly thought they were past that – that they had been past that since at least the Alpha debacle. But he could be wrong. It happens sometimes.

Eyebrows raised right back, Derek sighs, "Or maybe I came along in case it wasn't friendly."

Slapping a hand to his chest, Stiles gasps. "You mean you were worried about little ol' me? Why Derek! I didn't know you cared so much!"

Derek snorts, no doubt long used to Stiles' theatrics whenever he admits that he worries. "No, Stiles," he says, voice monotone. "I'm not actually worried about you. I just came to watch the creature use you as a chew toy."

"Of… course…" Stiles says, voice distant and distracted as he stops and looks around at the trees. The hair on the back of his neck and his arms is standing on end and he feels on edge, like he's being watched. His heartbeat quickens and his hands itch at his sides, ready to reach for the gun at his back.

"What is it?" Derek asks from next to him, voice tight and with a slight lisp. When Stiles looks over at him he sees that Derek has beta shifted.

Stiles answers the question with his own, eyes still searching the area around them. "Do you see, hear, or smell anything around us?"

Derek takes a moment, probably checking again, as if he didn't go on high alert the second Stiles did. "Not anything out of the norm. But it feels like we're being -"

"Watched, yeah," Stiles finishes. "This is where I felt it, whatever it is, come in. And it feels like it's still here, this…" He wracks through his brain for the right words, chewing his lip. "This presence, this aura, this essence. I mean, we all have one – I've just never felt anything like this before."

A voice echoes around them in a high soprano, accent hard to pin down. "That is because you've never met a proper witch before, spark."

Stiles spins around on the spot, trying to pinpoint where the voice is coming from with more than his hearing. "A proper witch, huh? What exactly makes one a 'proper witch'?" He uses air quotes, hoping his skepticism will bring this witch out in the open so he can at least see the possible threat.

"The ability to do magic without having to _believe,_ " the witch sneers, sounding much closer, though still nowhere to be seen.

"Gee, that sounds pretty cool," Stiles says, glancing over at Derek, whose red eyes are flitting around at the trees. "I'd love to hear more about it. Why don't you come out and talk to us face-to-face? Have a nice, friendly chat?"

The voice laughs, high pitched and grating against the ears, making Stiles wince. He doesn't even want to know how awful that was for Derek. "No, I think I'll stay where I am. Much more fun this way, watching."

"Got a bit of a voyeuristic streak, huh? I get it. I mean, we are a couple of damn fine guys -"

" _Stiles_ ," Derek growls, using that tone he always does whenever he thinks Stiles isn't taking something seriously enough.

"—with gorgeous bods and sparkling personalities, so I don't blame you," Stiles continues, choosing to ignore Derek. He knows what he's doing after all. Hopefully. "Sure, this guy," he points his thumb at Derek, "could use a bit more of a sense of humor – he thinks my jokes are terrible, and I am _hilarious_ – and I could be less of a dick, but what're ya gonna do?" He shrugs.

Derek grabs his bicep. "Stiles, stop messing around." His eyes continue to flit around them, jaw clenched tight.

Sighing, Stiles pats Derek on the chest. "See what I mean? He's just no fun. I don't know why I continue to be friends with him."

"Interesting…" the witch says, trailing off as if they're contemplating something.

The grip on Stiles' arm tightens, claws pricking at his skin, causing him to look over at Derek.

"Stiles," he says, voice deeper and gruffer, "I think we should leave. Now."

Stiles jerks his head back. "What? Why? What's wro-"

He's interrupted by Derek's groan of pain as he curls forward, clutching at his stomach with his free arm.

"Derek?" Stiles grabs Derek's shoulder and crouches so they're level, trying to meet Derek's eyes. "Hey, big guy, what's happening? Derek?" He looks around at the trees, fists clenched at his side and in Derek's shirt. "What the hell are you doing at him?"

The only answer is the sound of Derek's pained growl.

"Is this what real witches do?" Stiles asks, his voice raised and shaking. "Hurting people just because they can?"

"Not hurting, spark," the witch whispers, breath brushing against his ear and making him shudder. "Helping."

His hands itch to act, to grab his gun and just shoot this fucking witch so they'll stop hurting his – so they'll stop hurting Derek. "How the fuck is this helping?"

"You'll see," the witch says as he feels a sharp tugging in his chest, making him cry out as his knees threaten to buckle.

"What…" Stiles gasps, the pain intensifying as it feels like something is being pulled out of the very center of him, like he's losing part of his very essence. "What do you…" He barely registers crashing to the ground, or the sound of another body falling with him as his vision starts to white out at the edges.

"You'll see soon enough," the soprano voice says with glee.

A hand finds his and he clutches it tight as he curls into a fetal position, his head and knees coming into contact with someone else – with Derek.

Stiles gasps Derek's name – at least he tries to – as his vision clouds completely over.

And then there's nothing.

* * *

Next thing Stiles knows there's a weight on his chest, a small, soft hand patting at his cheek, and a child's voice saying close to his face, "Wake up. Daddy, wake up. You're not s'pose ta sleep in the woods, silly."

Groaning, Stiles opens his eyes only to meet a very familiar pair of light green, gold-specked ones in a face that is far too small and far too young and child…like. That has a nose Stiles sees every day in the mirror, and in a picture he has on his desk at his apartment.

The mouth on said face grins, and then the kid is scrambling off of Stiles and bounding over to something or someone to Stiles' right, yelling, "Papa! Papa! Daddy woke up! See? I _told_ you he would wake up soon."

"Yeah…" says a voice Stiles knows too well in a tone he doesn't hear often. Sure enough, when he sits up and turns to his right Stiles sees Derek, eyes wide and mouth gaping. And with a lap full of a little girl who looks to be about three or four. A little girl who has Derek's eyes and thick black hair and Stiles' nose and pale skin that easily reflects the moonlight.

The sight is a little… overwhelming. To say the least.

Stiles swallows thickly, the sound drawing Derek's wide eyes. "Derek?" he asks, throat tight so his voice comes out strangled.

Derek just shakes his head, while the little girl climbs onto his shoulders, talking a mile a minute without taking a breath, not a worry in the world. Apparently she wasn't afraid of the dark (though admittedly the full moon did light up the area pretty well) or of the woods.

"And then I saw that you were both sleeping in the middle of the woods, which Papa said we're never s'posed to do 'cause you never know what could be out here, so – hey! Daddy, Papa, are you even listening to me?" She interrupts herself, tugging on Derek's hair with her little fists – sharply too, if the wince on Derek's face is anything to go by.

"Of course we're listening!" Stiles says as he shuffles closer to them on his knees, remembering how frustrated he always got when he could tell nobody was listening when he talked as a kid. "We'll always listen to you, love. It's just, uh…" He looks at Derek, raising his eyebrows and hoping Derek will help out here.

Clearing his throat, Derek reaches up and pulls the little girl down into his lap, arranging her so that she can see both their faces. "We're just a little – confused."

Her little brow furrows and her bottom lip sticks out in a pout as she looks up at them. "Why?" she asks, arms crossed in front of her chest.

They look at each other over her head. Derek tilts his head toward her and raises her eyebrows. Stiles shrugs his shoulders up to his ears. Like he has a clue how to deal with kids; he wasn't the one that grew up in a house full of them. Anyway, even if he knew he was good with kids, Stiles has never had to deal with one thinking he was her daddy. Though evidence certainly points to that so far. Fuck.

Luckily, they're both saved from answering the little girl's question – for now at least (and of course if she really is Stiles' kid she'll just keep badgering until they give in or she'll find out the answer herself some other way) – when Stiles' phone starts playing Scott's ringtone.

Scrambling to pull his phone out before song gets to the not totally age appropriate part, Stiles answers, "Heyyy, Scotty."

"What is taking you guys so long?" Scott asks on the other end. "Did something happen?"

Looking at Derek, Stiles just gets a shrug while the little girl watches them with eyes that are too damn sharp for a four-year-old. "Uh… You could say that?" Stiles says, unsure how to answer. How does he explain over the phone that there's now a kid that is definitely probably his and Derek's sitting there and watching them?

"What does that -" Scott cuts himself off and when he speaks again it's with an obvious smirk. "Did you finally do what I told you to? Please, god, tell me you did. I really need to win this bet against Lydia and Erica about when you and Derek would finally f-"

Stiles interrupts Scott with a loud, "He is here and he can hear you, Scotty!" He avoids looking at Derek, not wanting to know what face he's making at what was clearly Scott asking if Stiles had finally gotten the guts to make a move.

"Papa," the little girl whispers non-too quietly, reaching up and patting Derek's scruffy cheek. "Papa, who's Scott and why did Daddy sound nervous when he said your name?"

"Stiles…" Scott says, tone more serious now. "Did I just hear a little girl?"

"Um…" Stiles bites his lip and meets Derek's eyes.

One of his hands holding the little girl's, Derek sighs, "Scott, I need you to call the others and have them meet us at the house. We have a bit of a… situation."

Stiles can't help but snort at the understatement of the century.

* * *

The walk back to the house is filled with the little girl gabbing away in between them, each of them holding one of her hands. Stiles makes sure to listen to what she's saying and to contribute in some way other than a vague hum. She tells them about the time that she got lost in the woods when she and Stiles were playing hide-and-seek and she was it.

Derek snorts. "Sounds familiar."

Stiles glares at him. "Couldn't you just – sniff me out? Or listen for my heartbeat?" he asks her.

"I think you were cheating 'cause I couldn't smell you or anything," she says, looking up at him with another pout. "So I just howled as loud as I could to get you to come to me!" She grins after she adds that, clearly proud of herself for thinking of that.

Humming, Stiles nods and bites his lips, trying not to grin because he totally would've done the same thing – as a last resort. "Didn't that worry me and your – and your papa though? Howling like that when you weren't in trouble or hurt or anything?"

She purses her lips as she thinks about it and then shrugs. "I dunno." Finished with that story, she looks back in front of them and sees that the house is a few yards in ahead. "Home!" Tearing her hands out of theirs, she starts running the rest of the way.

"Hey, wait!" Stiles yells after her before sighing and waving a hand. "Ah whatever. One of the betas will grab her."

Derek snorts again. "She is so your kid."

Stopping and crossing his arms over his chest, Stiles looks over at him. "What is that supposed to mean?" Derek opens his mouth to answer but Stiles plows over him. "Wait, no, let me guess. It means she's hyperactive and annoying and a little troublemaker and too much for a saint to handle, let alone a normal person." Stiles steps into Derek's space and pokes hard him in the chest. "Well you know what, Derek? If that's what you think than you can just -"

Derek grabs hold of his hand before Stiles can poke him again, cutting him off mid-rant. "Would you shut up for just one second?" Derek sighs. "You know that's not what I meant. It's a good thing that she's so much like you."

There's an ache in Stiles' chest as his heart starts beating double time, and it's not because of the way Derek is looking at him, all soft, or the way Derek's thumb is rubbing over the back of Stiles' hand. That would – that would just be stupid.

"I -"

"Hey!" Erica yells at them from the front porch. "Would you two stop flirting over there and come inside so we can figure out what the hell is going on?" She goes back inside before either of them can respond.

Sighing in unison, they finish walking up to the house and head inside to the living room, where everyone else is gathered. The little girl is sitting in the armchair to the right of the patio doors, Cora and Scott kneeling in front of her.

"You kinda look and smell like Papa," the little girl is saying, reaching out to play with some of Cora's hair. Stiles sees Cora swallow thickly and offer a shaky smile.

"That's because I'm your papa's sister, Cora," she says, voice light and sweet. Lydia, standing behind her, puts a hand on her shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

The little girl examines her, eyes narrowed. "You're my Auntie Cora?" Cora nods and wide grin spreads over the little girl's face. "Okay!" She turns to Scott, eyes shrewd again. "Who're you?"

Stiles bites down on a laugh as Scott jerks his head back, a hurt puppy look on his face at the blunt, rude tone that she sooo got from Derek. "I'm your – daddy's best friend, Scott. What's your name?"

"Kit. Kit Stilinski-Hale."

Erica doesn't even try to hide her huge smirk, turning to look at Stiles and Derek with an eyebrow waggle, before looking back at Kit. "That's a really cute name, and it's perfect for you because you are just the most adorable little girl I have ever met."

A blush spread across Kit's pale cheeks, but she grins widely at Erica. "You're really pretty too! I like your lipstick and your outfit. What's your name?"

Laughing softly, Erica kneels down between Scott and Cora. "My name's Erica, I'm one of your papa's betas." She motions behind her to Boyd and Isaac. "Those two are as well. The one with the curly hair and the scarf is Isaac, and the big muscly one is Boyd."

Kit looks at Isaac and Boyd as Erica names them, like she's committing them to memory. She nods when she seems to be sure she'll remember then looks at Allison, who's behind Scott and next to Isaac. "Who're you and why do you smell kinda wrong?"

"Kit, that was very rude," Derek says, tone firm and a frown on his face. "You can't just tell people they smell wrong. Apologize."

Lip sticking out in another pout, Kit looks up at Allison with watery eyes. "I'm sorry."

Allison gives her a gentle smile. "It's okay, Kit. My name's Allison, and I probably smell funny to you because I help your daddy with protecting the territory and sometimes that means I have to use stuff that werewolves don't really like."

"Oh," Kit says, tilting her head as she considers what Allison said before turning her bright, inquisitive eyes on Lydia. "I like your hair, it's pretty."

Lydia smiles back. "Thank you. I like your hair too. My name's Lydia."

The sound of the front door opening and slamming shut drifts through, joined by a voice yelling, "I am so sorry I'm late, I got caught up in – oh!" Kira stumbles to a halt as she comes into the living room, hair flying out of her bun and ink still on her face.

"Wow, you're bright!" Kit says, a wide smile on her face as she bounces in her seat. "You look like a fox lady! Are you a fox too?"

Stiles feels his eyes widen. "Wait, what?" He looks between Kira and Kit, and then Kit and Derek. "What do you…" Focusing back on Kit, he asks, "Kit, love, what do you mean?"

Kit rolls her eyes so hard her whole head rolls with it. "Stop playing dumb, Daddy. I'm a werefox, duh!" She turns back to Kira, done with Stiles being stupid and annoying apparently. "What's your name? Can I see your tails? Can you turn into an actual fox?"

It barely registers to Stiles as Kira walks over to the armchair Kit is sitting in, excited to talk to someone who's excited about her kitsune form that she still sometimes has trouble masking, especially when she's excited or startled. Stiles is too busy blinking his eyes repeatedly and trying to breathe as he tries to figure out what the hell is going on.

"Stiles," comes Derek's voice as a hiss in his ear before a hand clamps around his bicep and drags him over to the kitchen. Stiles lets himself be manhandled through the swinging door. Once they're in the room and the door has stopped swinging, Stiles startles pacing and running his hands through his hair, trying to work through the theories running through his head.

"Stiles…" Derek says again, and his careful tone, the one he uses any time Stiles panics, makes Stiles look up.

"How, Derek?" Stiles says, barely stopping himself from shouting. Instead he throws his arms out and gestures widely, like he hasn't since high school. "It was bad enough that a 'real witch' apparently took some of our… essence to make a kid – because that's what the witch obviously did. That's what that pulling, yanking pain was before we passed out, like she was taking something from us – for whatever fucking reason, probably to mess with us.

"But now? Now we find out she's a fucking _werefox?_ How does that even work, Derek?" Stiles motions a hand out to him. "You're a born werewolf, I'm just a human with a bit of a spark. She wasn't bitten, so it can't be the whole thing where you take the form that matches your personality…" He trails off and stops his pacing as a thought comes to him.

"Oh… Oh my god…" His voice comes out muffled as he groans into his hands, hunched in on himself as the thought really takes hold. Oh god, does he hope he's wrong. Please, please tell him he's wrong. If there are any gods out there they wouldn't be so cruel… would they?

Two hands come down on his shoulders and Derek's voice says from directly in front of him, "Stiles, what is it? What's wrong?"

Oh god, now Derek sounds worried too. Fuck. He'd so better be wrong.

Lowering his hands from his face and opening his eyes, Stiles looks right into Derek's, only a few inches away. "What if…" He swallows thickly, a lump in his throat. "Derek, what if – what if, when the witch took some of my, my soul or whatever she took a bit the nogitsune with her?" His breath quickens as he works himself up even more, his heart pounding hard and fast in his chest as he struggles to breathe, but needing to ask, needing to know. "What if – what if there's some of the nogitsune in Kit and it's just growing inside of her? What if my weaknesses, my mistakes, have doomed our daughter before her life has even begun? What if -"

"Stop," Derek interrupts, brow furrowed and eyes bright and creased at the corners. "Don't do this to yourself. This isn't – this isn't a punishment for the things you've done, or the things the nogitsune did while it was using your body. You haven't doomed our daughter."

Eyes searching Derek's, Stiles' voice breaks as he whispers, "How do you know?"

Derek's hands squeeze Stiles' shoulders. "Because I know you. And I know you haven't done anything to deserve being punished." He leans forward those last few inches to rest their foreheads together, making the air stagger in Stiles' lungs before it starts to calm down to a steady pace. "Everything you have ever, personally done has been to protect all of us, the people you love. Your mom, your dad, Scott, the pack… me."

Stiles breathes out shakily at that. He hadn't known – he didn't think Derek had noticed. He never said anything, not once. Then again, neither had Stiles.

"There's nothing left of the nogitsune, Stiles," Derek continues, putting a hand over Stiles' heart. "All that's in here is you. You know that." He huffs in a sort of sad amusement. "You just have trouble remembering that sometimes. But I know."

Leaning back just enough so he can capture Stiles' eyes again, Derek says, "I also know that that little girl – our little girl – as much as she's like you, she didn't get any of your darkness. Or mine. She may have gotten our bluntness and our attitude and your hyperactivity and any number of our other traits, but right now? She is just a happy little girl, meeting her pack for the first time. She still has a lot of growing to do. But any darkness she gets in that time is hers, not yours, not mine, not the nogitsune's. Okay?"

Stiles takes a deep breath and nods. As he lets his breath out slowly he sort of crumples, thumping his forehead down on Derek's shoulder and grabbing Derek's shirt at his waist, just needing something to hold onto. "You're right," he sighs. "God, sometimes I hate when you get all Zen and shit on me like this."

"No, you don't," Derek says with a quiet laugh, one hand rubbing up and down Stiles' back and the other carding through the hair at the nape of Stiles' neck, always somehow knowing just what Stiles needs after he works himself up like that.

"All right, you caught me," Stiles says with a smirk, nuzzling into Derek's shoulder, closer to his neck. "Sometimes I miss when you would shove me in walls and get all up in my space with a growl."

Derek snorts, though with how close their bodies are Stiles felt the shiver go through Derek's body after Stiles said that. Or maybe it was because Stiles' lips are now brushing Derek's neck when he talks. Which he sort of did on purpose. Okay, he totally snuffled closer to Derek's neck so his lips would brush Derek's skin. "I still do that," Derek says.

"Yeah, but not as often," Stiles sighs, tightening his grip on Derek's shirt.

Humming, Derek turns his head so that his face is in Stiles' hair, so Stiles feels it when Derek says, voice quiet, "Maybe we can fix that and I can throw you up against some walls for a different reason." He shifts again so that his lips are brushing the shell of Stiles' ear and says even more quietly, "Or maybe you can throw me up against some walls for a change."

Before Stiles can respond more than moaning and leaning more into Derek, the kitchen door swings open violently and Kit yells from behind them, "Papa, Daddy, there you are! Auntie Erica said I should come see what was taking you so long to get a snack."

"Cockblocked by our own magically created kid," Stiles can't help but sigh as he pulls back from Derek, who shushes him with a stern look on his face, though Stiles can see the laugh threatening to break out.

"Well, Auntie Erica was mistaken about us getting a snack, baby girl," Derek says as Stiles turns around. "It is way past your bedtime."

Kit pouts. "But I'm not even tired, Papa! I wanna stay up and play with my new aunties and uncles."

Stiles stifles a yawn that just snuck up on him. "Sorry, kiddo, but your daddy's right. It's past all our bedtimes. Everybody has to go home and get some sleep before they go to work in," he looks at his watch and whistles, "in a few hours."

"Okay…" she sighs, scuffing her toes on the floor and looking up at them through her lashes. "I get to see them tomorrow though, right?"

Oh god, this little girl is going to be the death of him. And if the look on Derek's face is anything to go by as he crouches in front of her, she'll be the death of him too.

"Of course," Derek says with a smile. "In fact, you'll probably see them pretty much every day." She squeals in happiness, bouncing on her toes and effectively warming Stiles to the very core. "Now do you wanna go tell them goodnight and then you can share the bed with me and Daddy?"

"Okay!" she says, more excited this time as she dashes back through the door and into the living room.

Derek sighs as he stands back up and turns around to face Stiles. "You're okay with sharing a bed, right?"

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Dude, we were just talking about fucking each other up against the wall. Pretty sure I'm good with some old fashioned cuddling."

"Stiles," Derek hisses as a blush spreads over his cheekbones, where his beard doesn't protect his face, eyes darting to look behind him. "Careful how loud you say that, she can hear you. So can everyone else."

Smirking, Stiles steps into Derek's space. "Sorry. I'll make sure to be more careful next time." He leans in and gives Derek a chaste kiss. Or well, it's chaste until he gives Derek's bottom lip a sharp nip as he pulls back, darting around Derek with a cackle and trying to get through the door before he can react.

It backfires, though, when Derek smacks him on the ass as he's passing through the doorway, making him yelp and Derek laugh. "That's what you get, troublemaker," Derek says from behind him, pushing Stiles toward the living room.

"Oh, you are so getting it at work tomorrow," Stiles grumbles under his breath, rubbing his stinging asscheek.

"Derek's getting what at work tomorrow, Stiles?" Erica asks with a smirk, leaning into Boyd, whose arm is around her waist. She waggles her eyebrows, while Boyd just sighs good-naturedly and drags her toward the door.

"C'mon baby, we have work in a few hours."

Erica lets Boyd pull her out, but turns her head over her shoulder and does the motion of a blowjob just before she disappears beyond the doorframe.

Stiles sighs. "Sometimes I can't believe she teaches small children for a living. But then I see her with little kids and I remember why."

"Erica is the definition of a walking conundrum," Derek agrees.

Scott and Isaac come up next, ready to leave.

"You two are gonna be all right, yeah?" Scott asks, brow furrowed and eyes big.

"Sure you can handle a mini-you, Stilinski?" Isaac asks. "She's a bit of a menace. Told me my scarf was stupid and pulled on my hair."

Cooing, Stiles puts a hand to his chest and looks at Derek. "Aww, Derek, she really is like me."

Derek rolls his eyes at Stiles but nods his head at Scott and Isaac. "We'll be fine, guys. Go home and get some rest."

Isaac mock-salutes them as he leaves while Scott looks between them and gives an encouraging smile and a thumbs up. Kira and Cora, both absolutely infatuated with Kit, have to be dragged out by Allison and Lydia with promises to come back for dinner the next day. It's cute, Stiles thinks, seeing a softer side of Cora like that.

There's a high-pitched, squeaky yawn from the couch, making Stiles look over. When he does he has to bite back a big 'awww'. Sitting in the middle of the couch, her red-and-green striped socked feet hanging over the edge, Kit is rubbing her eyes with her fists.

"We go ta bed now?" she asks, looking up at them and forcing her eyes to say open.

Stiles walks over and picks her up, balancing her on his hip. "Yeah, love, we go to bed."

They head up the staircase straight in from the front door, head down the hallway to the right, and into the master bedroom at the end on the left. In the en suite she goes to the bathroom and uses a spare toothbrush. While she's doing that and Derek grabs an old shirt for her to wear, Stiles goes to the room he has here to do his own bedtime routine. It's a familiar one that Stiles has performed here many a times. Actually, he sleeps here more often than his own house, these days. About half of his clothes are in this room, including most of his uniforms. It's just easier to spend that night at Derek's house, since they go into the station and get off at the same time most days. At least that's the excuse Stiles has been feeding his dad and the rest of the pack. He knows they don't believe him any more than he believes himself.

Finished, he heads back to the master suite and gets Kit into Derek's shirt while Derek gets ready for bed. With a little boost up, she crawls to the middle of the bed and gets under the covers.

"Come up, Daddy," she says, voice slow and sleepy. "Where's Papa?"

"Right here, sweetie," Derek says, shutting off the bathroom light and coming over to the bed, wearing a pair of boxers and an old t-shirt, much like Stiles. He gets in the bed on the side closest to the window, so Stiles takes the one by the door (which he actually prefers. But Derek doesn't know that… Does he?). Once they're both settled, they lean in and kiss Kit on either temple.

"Night, baby girl," Derek says.

"Night, love," Stiles says.

"Nigh', nigh'…" Kit mumbles, drifting off to sleep nestled in between them, her hands curled over the hem of the comforter.

Stiles can't take his eyes off of her for the longest time, watching her breathe and her eyes shift behind her eyelids. The sight is mesmerizing.

"You gonna be able to sleep?" Derek whispers, dragging Stiles' attention away from Kit.

He shrugs. "I forgot to grab my pillow for some reason so probably not."

"Stiles…"

"It's fine," Stiles says quickly, not wanting to dwell on the last time he forgot his pillow.

Derek sighs but doesn't say anything else. For a while they're both quiet, just staring at each other in the dark, listening to Kit's breathing between them. It's pretty… comfortable actually. The most content Stiles has been in a long time. If ever.

The quiet gives a particular thought the chance to creep up to the forefront of Stiles' mind, something he's been considering for a few months but hasn't figured out how to say, which is always doubly frustrating for him. "Y'know," Stiles whispers, figuring now is as good a time as any to just – get it out there, "I've always wondered why you rebuilt this house – well, built a new one, since this is considerably smaller than the original. It's still pretty big though. Anyway, I've always wondered why you built this pretty good-sized house only to live here alone. I mean, I know the pack is over here every day, in and out for whatever reason. And I've spent more nights here than not the past – jeez, the past six months. But before that didn't it – didn't you get lonely? Sleeping in this big house by yourself?"

Most likely picking out his words carefully, Derek looks up toward the headboard. After taking a deep breath and sighing, he says, "I wanted all of you to have the chance to live your lives the way you wanted, especially after all that we've been through, and if that means living in your own houses and just coming here when you can…" He gives a small shrug. "It's fine by me, as long as you're happy."

Stiles flits his eyes over Derek's face, trying to see if he's telling the truth. The guy has never been the easiest to read, not like Scott, but Stiles can usually guess pretty well. Better than anyone except maybe Cora anyway. "But what about you? Are you happy living by yourself?"

"Were you happy living by yourself?"

Scowling and shifting against the pillow, Stiles huffs, "We weren't talking about me."

Derek raises his eyebrows in response. "Stiles, you've been renting your house for just over a year, and for half of that time you've been staying over here. You said it yourself, you spend more time over here, sleep here more often, than you do your own house." He holds up a hand when Stiles opens his mouth. "And don't try to tell me it's because it's just easier for us to carpool to and from work. I already told you, I know you. You were bored and lonely in that house by yourself."

Squirming some more but trying not to wake up Kit, Stiles avoids Derek's eyes. "Okay, I may be… a tad lonely and bored there…" And he may analyze every creak, every groan the old house or the trees surrounding it make, as well as the sounds of the woods behind and any animals that wander into his yard.

"Why don't…" Derek hesitates, making Stiles look at him, only to see Derek biting his lip. "Why don't you just quit pretending and move the rest of your stuff in here, quit renting that house?"

Stiles brings his thumb up to his mouth and starts chewing on the nail, thinking. He could – he could move in. It's not like that isn't exactly what he had been wanting to bring up for a few months now, and he practically lives here already. They have a good rhythm, a good routine established, so nothing would really be thrown off – not by him moving in at least. And he never really liked his house all that much before he got bored and lonely (and paranoid) there, which was why he had decided to just rent it for a bit instead of buying like everyone said he should, still unsure what exactly he wanted to do. Plus it'd be awkward for Kit, for her to find out that her parents didn't actually get together until she suddenly appeared. Though they'd probably have to explain to her why the bed didn't smell like Stiles when she was awake enough to notice stuff like that…

"Stiles," Derek voice cuts into his thoughts, pulling Stiles' hand away from his mouth. When Stiles focuses back on his face, he sees a crease between Derek's eyebrows and the start of a frown on his lips, like he's scared Stiles will refuse and run away or something.

Why not just go for it, right? "On one condition."

Derek raises his eyebrows, waiting for Stiles to continue.

He turns his hand in Derek's and twines their fingers together. "I move my stuff in here. This room, I mean."

A smile spreads across Derek's face. "I figured." He squeezes Stiles' hand. "You're sure?"

Shifting forward without disturbing Kit, Stiles kisses Derek softly and then pulls back a few inches, resting his head closer on the pillows. "Absolutely."

"Good," Derek whispers before leaning in to kiss him again a little more firmly but still chaste.

* * *

Stiles must have been able to fall asleep somehow because next thing he knows there's a weight bouncing up and down on his lower back, making him hyperaware of how much he really has to pee.

"Daddy, Papa, time to get up! It's breakfast time!" Kit says from where she's still bouncing on top of Stiles.

"If you get off of Daddy, then we can get up. Okay, baby girl?" comes Derek's sleep rough voice, which Stiles hears both above his head and under his ear. That's when Stiles realizes it's not the mattress and a pillow he's lying on top of.

Opening his eyes and lifting his head, Stiles sees the blue t-shirt covered chest his cheek was resting on, as evidenced by the small spot of drool next to where his mouth was. He clears his throat and looks up at Derek. "Sorry about the drool," he says, sheepish.

Derek rolls his eyes, but Stiles sees the sleepy smile. "It's okay. I'm just glad you were able to sleep without your pillow."

"Yeah," Stiles says as he feels Kit's weight leave his back. "It's the weirdest thing though. I don't remember falling asleep, let alone how. Or how I ended up on top of you…" That draws a snort out of Derek, making Stiles roll his eyes. "You know that's not what I meant, ass," he grumbles as he pushes himself up with his hands on Derek's chest, trying not to think about the feel of the muscles beneath the thin shirt.

Once he's off Derek and standing besides the bed, Stiles looks around. "Where did she go? Is she downstairs already?"

Head tilted (probably unconsciously), Derek listens. "Yeah, she's in the kitchen."

Stiles sighs. "Okay. Guess it's time to make breakfast, huh?"

Derek hums in agreement as he stands up as well. "But first," he says before leaning in and kissing Stiles chastely.

Holding himself back from leaning in and chasing after Derek's lips, Stiles clears his throat and grins widely, ignoring the heat he can feel flushing his cheeks. "Let's go, big guy, otherwise she'll decide to try making breakfast herself – and I remember how that turned out when I tried it as a kid. It wasn't pretty. Trust me."

* * *

After the disaster that was finding Kit somehow _in_ the cupboard that is level with Stiles' _head_ and having to get her down and explain to her – _calmly_ , even though Stiles was about ready to have a heart attack, he was so worried she was gonna fall and break her neck, screw being a were and healing faster – that she can't do that and should wait for them to make breakfast no matter how slow she thinks they're being, Stiles is more than ready to drive to his dad's house before they're on duty to drop Kit off and let his dad figure it out. But Derek insists that they at least have to explain to him what little they know and have guessed, and that they should also explain to Kit that she's just spending the day with her grandpa while her papa and daddy are at work.

So here they are, walking from the Jeep – "Because it's safer for children, Derek, trust me. I grew up riding in this all the time." Derek snorts and says under his breath, "Yeah, and when you were a kid it was actually new. Now it's ancient and bound to fall to pieces any day now." Stiles gasps and points a finger in Derek's face. "How dare you say that about Roscoe! He will live forever!" – to the front door with Kit between them, looking up at the house.

"This house is pretty," she says. "I like the tree in the front yard. It's nice and big. I wanna climb it. Can I climb it, Papa? Daddy, who's that man in the doorway? He reminds me of you. Is he your daddy?"

In the front door Stiles' father certainly is standing, arms crossed over his chest and eyebrows raised. "Do I want to know why the two of you of all people have a child with you – and seem to be dropping her off with me? You're not on duty yet so it can't be a lost kid you found."

"Yeah, no, she's definitely not lost," Stiles answers when they reach the porch, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Then what -"

Kit interrupts him with a gasp. "Daddy, is this where you grew up? It smells like you in there!" With that she lets go of Stiles and Derek's hands and darts into the house between John's legs.

"Kit, wait!" Derek calls after her with a groan. "You can't just run into strange houses by yourself!"

"Sorry, Papa!" she calls back from somewhere inside, tone not in the least apologetic.

Stiles looks over at Derek with a grimace and a shrug as Derek glares at him. "I know, I know. It's my fault she doesn't listen and just runs ahead to explore things."

John clears his throat from in front of them. "Would one of you like to explain to me how exactly there is now a small child in my house who looks like the two of you and is reminding me eerily of Stiles at that age?"

"About that…" Stiles fiddles with his gun belt as he tries to think of a response that will make a suitable amount of sense.

"It, uh," Derek speaks up with a grimace of his own when John looks at him with his eyebrows raised. "She showed up last night when we went to check out the border breech. We have some theories, but nothing definite."

"We were gonna try to find the 'true witch' we ran into and ask her what's up with this after our shift," Stiles continues.

Nodding with a sigh, John beckons them inside after taking a step back from the door. "All right, well if you're gonna stick her with me all day you should at least explain to her why."

Stiles points finger gun at him. "Right you are, daddy-o." He steps inside and heads to the bottom of the stairs. "Kit! Come down here so Papa and I can say goodbye."

A blur of dark hair and bright red hoodie comes shooting down the stairs toward him, latching onto his legs. "Daddy, nooooo. You have to stay and play with me and show me your old room and your old toys and, and we have to climb the tree in the front yard and -"

"We'd love to stay, baby girl," Derek says, kneeling down in front of her, "but Daddy and I have to go to work so we can protect the people in our territory, okay?"

Her bottom lip sticks out and wobbles a little bit. "But I don't want you to go."

"Hey," Stiles says gently, pulling her away from his legs and crouching down in front of her next to Derek, "we'll be back as soon as we can, okay? But we have to look after our territory, which includes looking after you. We promise we'll be as safe as we can."

"Okay…" she says, her voice so small it makes Stiles' heart ache. God, was this what he was like whenever his dad had to go into the station? Was this what his dad felt like?

Derek reaches forward and tucks a strand of hair behind Kit's ear. "In the meantime, you get to spend the day with your grandpa, who I'm sure will tell you all kinds of stories about your daddy when he was little if you ask nicely."

Clear green-gold eyes big, Kit looks over at John where he's leaning against the back of the living room couch behind them, watching. "Can you tell me stories about Daddy and Papa before they were Daddy and Papa?"

John smiles at her. "Sure, kiddo."

Shy now, Kit pulls away from Stiles and Derek and takes slow, small steps toward John. When she's directly in front of him she looks up and raises her arms, waiting to be picked up.

Huffing, John leans down and picks Kit up. "You're as demanding as your daddy. He did the same thing when he was a little boy."

"Everybody likes to be picked up and held," Stiles grumbles under his breath, standing up straight and crossing his arms over his chest. Derek chuckles at this, so Stiles smacks him with the back of his hand. What he doesn't expect is for Derek to grab his wrist and then wrap their hands around each other. Though he certainly won't complain.

"Now, is Kit a nickname or did your papa and daddy name you that?" John asks, drawing Stiles' attention back to the couch.

Kit shakes her head. "'sa nickname. My real first name is Claudia."

Stiles feels an ache bloom in his chest, making it hard to breathe, and closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see whatever look is on his father's face at that revelation. He feels a hand squeeze his own, Derek's hand. God, how could that fucking witch – Why would she –

"And what's your full name?" Stiles hears his father ask, voice slightly strangled.

"Claudia Ansley Stilinski-Hale!" Kit says, little voice proud.

A small, wounded whine sounds from next to Stiles, so quiet Stiles would think he was hearing things if he didn't know for a fact that Ansley was Derek's grandmother's name, as well as Talia and Laura's middle names. Plus, y'know, Derek's hand squeezes even tighter around Stiles', like it wants to make a fist, making the bones of Stiles' hand grind together. He doesn't make a sound or complain one bit though, just squeezes Derek's hand back as best he can.

"Papa? Daddy?" Kit's voice says, making Stiles look at her. He swallows thickly when he sees her little furrowed brow as she scents the air. "What's wrong? Why do you smell so sad?"

"It's -" Stiles stops and clears his throat, not glancing at Derek and still avoiding his father's eye, "it's nothing, love. Sometimes – sometimes when we hear your full name it makes us think of our mamas, and we miss them so much that it makes us sad sometimes. But I promise, nothing's wrong."

Luckily, Stiles has gotten plenty practice over the years – before and after the supernatural overtook his life – sticking close enough to the truth that it doesn't register as a lie. So Kit takes his word for it and nods her head. "Okay. Do you have to go to work now?"

Stiles nods this time. "Yeah, we do. So you be good for Grandpa, okay?" He walks forward, pulling Derek with him by their still intertwined hands, and wraps his free left arm around Kit. "I mean it. He's not as young as he used to be and can't handle our level of energy as well as he once could."

She huffs into his tan uniform shirt. "Yes, Daddy. I promise to be good for Grampa."

"Good." He steps back a little while Derek gives Kit a hug, still silent. Though Derek does smile at her and kiss the top of her head.

"You two be careful, all right?" John says as Stiles leads the way to the door, needing to get out of there.

"You know us."

"Yes, I do," he says, voice firm.

Stiles just waves his free hand over his shoulder and out the door. He walks over to the Camaro and stops next to the passenger side, holding his hand out toward Derek. It's a sign of how out of it Derek is that he just hands the keys over without a word or a huff or an eye roll. Holding back every thought that pops up, Stiles just gets in the driver's side and starts up, reversing and heading down the street toward the station once Derek is in and buckles up. Neither of them says a word, silence weighing heavy in the air. They barely speak even when they reach the station, checking in and finding out what rounds they have to make for the day.

The entire shift thoughts eat away at Stiles, theories about what the hell is going on. It could be the witch is someone one or both of them pissed off at one point or another. Unfortunately, that doesn't really narrow down a list of possible suspects. Neither Stiles nor Derek are really known for being people persons, both of them having brash personalities in their own rights. Not to mention they've made plenty of enemies in the supernatural world just in the act of protecting their territory.

Still, if the witch is someone they've had a run-in with before – or is connected to someone the pack has clashed with – it would certainly explain such a personal attack. Creating a kid using some of their most prominent characteristics, probably things they particularly like about the other or something, and then naming that kid after Stiles' mother and Derek's grandmother. God, just thinking about it is making Stiles itch to do something. Anything…

He stands up from his chair with more force then necessary, sending it crashing into the desk behind his and effectively silencing the squad room. Ignoring the stares he can feel on him, Stiles grabs keys to his cruiser and heads out to the lot. He's due for another round of the warehouse district anyway.

Foot on the gas pedal, he's about to take off when the passenger side door opens and Derek gets in.

"Don't you have your own rounds to make? Around the Preserve?" Stiles asks him, even as he steps on the gas and pulls out of the lot.

Stiles sees Derek shrug out of the corner of his eye. "We can make those after we do the warehouse district. I just – I figured it'd be better if I tagged along with you before you did something stupid."

Hands tightening on the steering wheel until the leather creaks, Stiles says with no inflection, "Why would I do something stupid. We're on duty."

A sigh draws Stiles' eyes, like it always does. On Derek's face is a pinched expression that Stiles knows well. One that says _I'm worried about_ _you but don't want to say anything because, even though I'm more Zen and stable now than I was ten years ago, I'm still emotionally constipated._ Not that Stiles has any room to talk, what with Scott hounding him to tell Derek about his feelings for well over five years now.

"It's when you add qualifiers like that that I really know we're in trouble," Derek says, meeting Stiles' eyes with a small smile.

Turning back to the road in front of them, Stiles loosens his grip. "Why do you always play dirty?" he grumbles.

Derek laughs. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Liar," Stiles snorts. "I know you know how much that stupid smile of yours calms me down. Why else would you always use it when I'm agitated or wound up or angry? Or all three, like I was just now?"

"You give me too much credit," Derek says, voice quiet as Stiles turns into the warehouse district and slows down, eyes no doubt scanning the buildings around them.

This time Stiles is the one who sighs. "I really don't."

* * *

They both get off duty at midnight. Since Stiles' dad had sent him a photo of Kit passed out in Stiles' old bed a few hours ago, they know she's not too worried about where they are. So they decide to go back to the section of the woods where they ran into the witch the night before.

Stiles had relaxed some after they had made their rounds earlier in the day, Derek sufficiently distracting him. But now, as they walk the same path they did yesterday around the same time, all the thoughts he had been having come rushing back, quickening his pace. Derek walks beside him, not saying a word.

It's not long before they reach the spot and Stiles feels the witch's presence.

"Oh my, I do love men in uniform," the witch says, their voice echoing around the trees.

Fists clenched at his sides, Stiles speaks quietly and calmly to the forest floor. "Cut the shit and tell us what your angle is."

That high pitched, piercing laugh rings in Stiles' ears. "Angle? Whatever do you mean, spark?"

"The little girl!" bursts out of Stiles' chest before he reins his voice and anger back in with a deep breath. "You took parts of us, took bits of our essence to create her. Why? Was it to create an opening for you to attack the pack while we're at our most vulnerable?" Silence answers his question. "Or are you just toying with us? Because I fucking guarantee, if that's all you're doing, I will make it my life's mission to hunt you down and rip you limb. from. limb. And I will take pleasure in it."

The witch clucks their tongue. "I had heard the emissary of the Hale pack was more bloodthirsty than the most feral of omegas, even before his run-in with a nogitsune, but I never would have imagined you to be this violent."

A snarl building deep in his chest, Stiles reaches a hand toward his sidearm. Derek's hand on his wrist stops him, as well as the shake of Derek's head when Stiles looks up at him.

"It's good to see the alpha can calm you, spark. Perhaps the little werefox will do just the same."

Derek squeezes his wrist, letting Stiles know he'll handle it. "What's that supposed to mean?" Derek asks calmly. "Why did you create Kit?"

"Is that what her name is?" the witch asks, sounding genuinely surprised. "Interesting."

"Answer the question."

Their sigh tickling the hair on the back of Stiles' neck, the witch seems to relent. "There is a reason that sparks are so rare. More often than not they are snuffed out, to weak to withstand the stresses of this life. Then there are those such as you, Meonenim that refuse to be put out. You do whatever you can to survive."

Stiles takes a shallow breath, his lungs restricted. He hasn't heard his real first name in over fifteen years, not since before the dementia started eating away at his mother's brain, making him an enemy in her eyes. Someone to fear and abhor.

"Did you ever wonder how your mother ended up out here, in a small town that nobody outside of the supernatural world has ever heard of? Or how you ended up surrounded by werewolves and banshee and kitsune and druids? Or why a nogitsune chose you as its host out of all its choices? Or how you survived being possessed by a thousand year old dark spirit for several weeks, when most others have withered within a few days?

"A spark, in its bid to survive, draws other, more powerful creatures to it. It feeds off of them. Just like you, upon your inception, fed off what was left of your mother's spark."

"Shut up," Stiles chokes out, voice a rasp.

"Just like you, since your birth, have fed off the nemeton, and in turn have kept it alive. Drawing werewolves, darach, wendigo, elves, witches, fairies – everything your pack has come into contact with. Every dangerous and friendly creature."

His voice, his whole body trembles, his breath comes quick. "Shut up."

"Just like you drew the Hales back to their territory, kept alive their ancient line in spite of their low numbers and insanity."

"Shut up!" His voice is louder, but still the witch ignores him.

"Just like you have brought your friends to their full potential, bringing them into the supernatural fold, feeding off of power even as you created this ragtag pack of yours."

"SHUT UP!" Stiles screams, his voice tearing over his vocal chords and shaking the ground beneath their feet. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles sees Derek wince and clench his jaw. Stiles yanks his wrist out of Derek's hand and grips at the hair on either side of his head. "Shut up, shut up, shut up! That wasn't me!"

Voice firm, the witch continues. "The sparks who survive do so through violence and pain and destruction – not unlike nogitsune."

Shaking his head, Stiles clenches his eyes shut. "No no no no no no no no no no no no…" he mumbles, trying to block out the witch's words. They're wrong. He didn't – he didn't do anything. His mother was sick, what she had was hereditary. He didn't do that. He didn't make Peter go on a rampage and bite Scott. He didn't awaken Lydia's banshee powers. He didn't make Derek so lonely and desperate he bit other lonely and desperate people. He didn't draw the Alpha pack or the darach or nogitsune or – or anyone. That was the nemeton. He was just here. He just lives here. He's no one, he's nothing. He's just – he's just human plus. He didn't do anything. He didn't. It's not his fault. None of it is his fault. It's not, it's not, it's not, it's no—

"Eventually, those surviving sparks devour and destroy those they draw in, leaving them alone and free to unleash their violence and pain out onto the world."

On his knees now, Stiles lays his forehead on the dirt and pulls harder at his hair. "No no no no no no no no. I wouldn't – I'm not – I don't – I-It's not my fault. I didn't do it. I didn't do anything. It's not my fault. It's not, it's not, it's not, it's no-"

A hand lands on Stiles' back and starts stroking up and down while another hand grabs his and pulls it out of his hair. "You're right, it's not. It's not your fault," Derek's voice says close to his ear.

Turning his head toward the voice, Stiles meets Derek's eyes. Eyebrows creased, eyes bright, and mouth drawn down into a frown – the classic expression of worry. "I'm sorry," Stiles croaks.

The hand on Stiles' back moves up to his head, fingers in his hair and thumb stroking his cheekbone. "It's not your fault, Stiles. None of that was you. Okay? It wasn't you. It's not your fault."

Stiles' breath hitches at the softness and sureness of Derek's voice.

"That is, unless," the witch speaks up again, voice quiet and gentle, "the spark finds someone who can rein them in, calm them down without the use of force. As the alpha does for you, spark. As the werefox will also do."

"So that's why you made Kit?" Derek asks, voice deepened in anger even as he continues to look at Stiles and gently stroke his cheek. "To make sure Stiles was under control so you 'true witches' wouldn't have to – what? Put him down?"

The witch huffs. "I would be lying if I said I didn't bring that into consideration when I created the werefox for you – but that wasn't my main reason, no."

"Then why?"

"Because I hate to see two people who are so clearly and brightly connected by the strings of fate continue to blindly ignore their feelings and each other's. Now that she's brought the two of you together, and you are aware of the dangers that could arise should you ever lose complete control, my business is done here." With that, the witch's presence fades from Stiles' senses.

"Gone. The witch is gone," he says as he sits up and stretches out his legs in front of him.

Derek nods. "I figured." His eyes scan over Stiles, who squirms under the scrutiny. "You okay?"

"Oh sure," Stiles groans as he stands up, his knees stiff from the way he was crouched for so long. "I just found out that I'm basically a ticking time bomb that's a danger to everyone around me unless I have a babysitter. But yeah, I'm okay."

Sighing, Derek grabs Stiles' hand before he can walk away. "I'd prefer to think of myself more as an anchor. Just like you're mine."

Stiles bites his lip and turns back to Derek. "I'm your anchor, huh?"

With a roll of his eyes, Derek steps into Stiles' space. "Have been for years – which you already knew, so quit fishing."

"Oh but I don't think I did know," Stiles says, grinning and leaning in closer.

"Shut up," Derek huffs before closing the last of the space between them to kiss Stiles firmly.

* * *

They drive to Stiles' dad's house, Stiles using the key he still has so they don't wake John up. To the second floor and Stiles' old room they go, kneeling beside the bed. Derek reaches forward and shakes Kit's shoulder lightly.

"Wake up, baby girl," he whispers as her little eyelashes flutter. "Time to go home."


End file.
